At the end of every trip, I find photos that don’t really fit with any post. Like these.
If you ask me to describe San Xavier Mission in one word, I will say, “hopeless.” Although thoughtful renovations are underway to restore the physical appearance of the church, the visages inside represent hundreds of individuals in desperate need of spiritual reconciliation. The parishioners light candles, rub statues, and perform rituals in hope of salvation when all they really need is a relationship with Christ.
If you want to enter Nogales, Mexico on foot, no one will stop you. Unlike Togo (where I waited nearly an hour for the border patrol to check my papers), no one stamped my passport as I walked through the metal turnstile and crossed the border.* These photos and my own memories are the only proof that I spent an hour in Mexico.
Oh, Mexico! I’ve never really been, so I don’t really know.
*Border agents did check my passport when I returned to the USA.
I tried to convince myself that Tombstone was the western equivalent of Old Salem. Needless to say, western gunslingers were more lawless than Moravians.
As we drove south from the Grand Canyon, the landscape transformed. We zig-zagged into a valley where massive red rocks towered on either side of the road.
The dazzling rock formations, unlike any mountain I have ever seen, “caught me by surprise.”